


cold feet, warm hearts.

by likeabomb



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldwave Winter Week 2018, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nonbinary Character, On the Run, Other, Roadtrip, Trans Male Character, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 22:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: A road trip from LA to their home in the Gem Cities, Len and Mick have a deadline and when the cops catch wind of their recent score, it all hits the fan.





	cold feet, warm hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Day One of the Coldwave Winter Week on tumblr. I always have trouble keeping up with these sorts of things, even when I start early, but I got one done! We'll see if I can get more done this week or afterwards, I have a lot of ideas.
> 
> This is "On The Run // Roadtrip", and it's both rolled into one!

Everything’s off. The door is locked. The gate is locked.

Len double checks, just to be sure, and then arms the place. Nobody’s going to be getting in- even if they probably wouldn’t bother to begin with- but better to be safe than sorry.

Two duffels on his shoulder, Mick waits by the car for Len to catch up, catching him when he passes to squeeze his hip with a big hand. It’s chilly today, and why Lisa thought a winter wedding was a good idea was beyond him, but at least it was inside. Central in December was too cold for his liking.   
  
Len rounds the car, opening the door as Mick does and they set their things in the back, two duffels of each of their things, and a locked black hard case. They shut the doors at the same time and Len leans on the car, arms crossed to look over it at his partner.   
  
“You ready for this?” The smirk on his lips says it all.

Mick shoots that same grin back, “Let’s get this show on the road.” He pats the roof of the car hard before they climb in.

Before he even has the belt on, Len pushes his seat back to a recline, getting himself comfortable. It’s going to be a long drive, but driving was going to be so much easier than a plane. Half because they were just a pain in the ass, but they usually frowned upon stolen diamond necklaces. Even if they were wedding presents!

Mick situates himself, the radio on quietly for now, old rock music, and turns the heater on low before backing them out and onto the road.

And then they’re off, on a road trip, headed to Len’s dear sister Lisa’s wedding.

It’s not really as eventful as they geared it up to be. It’s going to be a lot of the same freeway, hills, desert, empty stretches of land, trees, and a hell of a lot of nothing. They’d taken this trip before, coming out to LA a few years ago, bringing their belongings to set up shop and see what the city of angels had to offer.

But they make it interesting anyway.

“I won’t put my hands up and surrender,” Mick croons.

“There will be no white flag aboove myyyy door,” Len continues.

And together, they belt out, “I’m in love and alwaaays wiiill beeee~”

When Len gets a cheeky smirk, Mick knows to be suspicious.

“I spy with my little eye-” Len drawls.

“Fuck no,” Mick cuts in, shaking his head, glancing sideways at him, “I’ll kick you out here and you can walk the rest of the way.”

“You’re no fun,” Len snickers, and really, he knew that wasn’t going to fly.

And when he dozes off with his sunglasses perched on his nose and his shoulders high as he leans against the door of the car, Mick takes the road a little easier so he won’t jostle him.

The trip itself is only really 23 hours, but with only Mick driving, it’s not going to be a straight shot. They have a few days to get there anyway, even if something happens. They have room to take it slow, take it at their own pace. There’s not much out here they want to see, the giant novelty bullshit and the roadside mummies aren’t really that interesting, but Mick still pulls off into a little town on the way about six hours in.

It wakes Len and he blinks blearily, peeking at everything with a cautious eye. Mick huffs a laugh, “Need to stretch my legs. And I want pancakes.”

They’re in an iHop parking lot, of all things. It’s perfect roadtrip food, and no one can really argue otherwise. Len unfolds himself from the car, stretching his back out and lacing his fingers as he reaches them over his head. Mick rolls his shoulders, stiff from sitting in the same position for hours.   
  
Len rounds the front of the car to meet him on the way up onto the sidewalk, a hand looped around his hip. Mick puts an arm around his shoulders before leaning in to give him a kiss to the head, feeling the prickle of his buzzcut against his lips.   
  
“Nap good?” he asks gruffly.   
  
All Len answers with is a little grunt of his own before he slinks into the restaurant. Mick lets the door close behind him. The waitress at the counter smiles for them, “Two?”   
  
They both nod and she leads them down to a booth in the corner. There’s only a few other tables filled so it’s pretty quiet in here today. 2pm must not be peak pancake hour. 

She hands them a couple of menus with that same smile, “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

Len looks but doesn’t quite see the menu before looking up at her, “Coffee for me.”   
  
Mick has more awareness but nods a little, “Same for me.”   
  
She nods, ducking her head a little, “I’ll give you two a few minutes to look over the menu.”   
  
Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Len sits back hard with a little sigh, looking out the window at the little town moving around outside. Mick’s gaze follows to where he’s looking. There’s a lady pushing a stroller. A couple of kids on skateboards. It seems like a nice enough place to live. At least this part of town.

Boring.

They seem to have the same thought at the same time and lose interest, turning back to the menus.

“Grinch pancakes,” Mick growls out, an eyebrow quirked as he looks over the laminated sheet at his partner.

“Remade the movie again,” Len explains, “That funny looking British actor is voicing the Grinch. It’s all some marketing scam.”

Mick huffs, but the Who-Roast Beast Omelette _does_ look good.

They put in their orders when the waitress comes back with a pot of hot coffee and two cups.

“You remembered the tuxes?” Len asks, sipping his coffee, loaded with enough sugar and creamer to bring down a horse.   
  
“In the trunk,” Mick answers over his own cup, black with just enough sugar to cut the bite a little. It’s overbrewed, but it’s iHop.

“Shoes?”   
  
“Trunk.”   
  
Len opens his mouth to ask about something else and Mick huffs a laugh, “It’s all in the car. I’m not goin’ back six hours cuz you forgot a toothbrush.”   
  
“I remembered my toothbrush,” Len says, almost defensively.

All Mick answers with is a smirk of his own. Len kicks him gently under the table and the look in Mick’s eyes, however mischievous, means Len’s gonna get that back later.

Lunch is fairly quiet, mostly uneventful. Nobody approaches the car. There’s no cops.

Sipping his coffee after his omelette, Mick looks over his shoulder to where Len’s been eyeing the town outside and glances back at him, “Think they think we did it?”

Len hums, eyes far away, “We _did_ leave our calling card.”

Mick scoffs a laugh, pouring himself a little more to drink, “Pussies.”   
  
Laughing alongside him, they leave the waitress a generous tip and head out on their way an hour or so after they arrived. Mick does a little more stretching before he gets back in the car, and watching him, Len’s eyes wander a little, as they tend to.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“Honey, you’re a shit driver,” Mick smiles a little.   
  
Len doesn’t even look offended. He shrugs because he knows Mick’s right. His father never taught him anything past dangerous getaway driving for fear he’d gain some kind of freedom, and by the time he might have needed to know, he’d already amassed a crew of people who knew well enough. Besides, he was the best navigator around.

Mick offers a hand and Len comes in close, hands on Mick’s chest so he can lean up to give him a kiss. Chaste but playful. They share a few in the parking lot before they get back on the road.

Len ends up with his boots up on the dash, the window cracked to get some fresh air against his face. The sun is setting as they drive, and it’s nice and relaxing. The stop gets them a good leg of the trip, and it’s dark before Mick starts lagging a little, reaching to rub his eyes more and more.   
  
The hand on his arm makes him glance over and Len nods a little. Mick takes that as the go ahead to find somewhere to stop for the night. The next sign with a bed is where they pull off. It’s barely a town, if they’re being honest. It’s two gas stations, six fast food places, and one dim motel. They exchange a look, but they’ve put up shop in worse places before.

Mick gets their bags out of the back seat while Len goes ahead to talk to the person at the desk. It’s an older gentleman who asks if they want separate rooms or just separate beds. Len shakes his head, giving Mick a knowing look before he tells the man just one bed, something big. The man looks them over, one eye squinting, but he takes the cash Len hands over and gives them the key.

Their hands linger a little when Mick hands Len the case, shifting his shoulder to keep the duffels steady.   
  
Len lets them into the room and he drops them on the bed, stretching himself out again. He’s sore, but they can take a plane back to LA when the wedding’s over. It’s not like the car is legally theirs anyway. They’re not dumb enough to go cross country in their own car.

A little more careful with the case, he sets it on the table. He turns the heater on, listening to it rumble as it warms up. He eyes it up to make sure it’s not going to break, a hand over it to make sure it’s _actually_ putting out heat, and then turns his attention back to Mick who’s shrugging his jacket off.

Mick stops when he feels eyes on him and gives Len a little smirk. Len puts his hands up in mock surrender now that he’s been caught and just slinks into the bathroom to turn the shower on. It’s clean, but just barely. At least the water is hot almost immediately. Mick toes off his boots and inspects the bed while Len putters around, dragging their towels and little bag of toiletries out of their bags.   
  
Setting them aside, he steps up behind Mick, arms around his middle and face pressed into his shoulders. Mick sets his hand on Len’s and hums, a questioning tone if nothing else. His fingers play over Len’s hands, tracing the rings on his pinky and ring finger, a warmth blooming in his chest.

Once upon a time, he might not have wanted to be a better man, but he is now, and so is Len, and they couldn’t be better together if they tried.

“Shower with me,” Len pats his hip, unlooping his hands from around him. His touch lingers even as he tries to pull himself away.

Mick follows behind, and once the bathroom door is closed, helps Len out of his clothes, a few well places kisses behind his ear and down his neck as he pushes his jacket off his shoulders. Hands down his front and to the button of his pants, then up again to pull the sweater off too. They all get draped over side of the sink, and layer by layer he undresses his husband in the steamy bathroom.   
  
Len turns and does the same after Mick has him down to his underwear and it doesn’t take much doing because Mick helps, tugging clothes off that Len isn’t already working on. It was slow and sensual with Len, but a hurried frenzy with Mick. They’re kissing even before they’re in the shower, more than the chaste and playful kisses in the iHop parking lot and more charged.

Not unlike normal, Mick has Len boxed against the wall where he leans back and just basks in the taste of his partner’s tongue, the feel of slick hands on his skin. Mick wraps his hand around Len’s cock, and strokes him slowly. Len ducks his head to draw hickies along Mick’s throat and shoulders as he groans quietly in all the tricks Mick knows to get him off. He knows just how, but they still take their time with it.   
  
When Len comes apart in his grip and comes down from the high, he kneels between Mick’s legs with a big hand around the curve of his skull easing him into it. One of Mick’s legs perch on the side of the tub to let Len eat his warm cunt out, the hot shower beating down on his back.

They unravel in each other and bask in the hot water til it starts to run out.

The room when they open the bathroom door, is warmed up enough there’s not much of a chill while they dig through their bags for sleepwear.

Kicked back and curled up on the bed, Len traces the edges of Mick’s scars and Mick rubs his buzzed head til they both fall asleep, warm and content. Along the edges of his burns, along the scars across his chest, all the knives, all the bullets. Len’s own scars are nothing to sneeze at, of course, more knives than bullets, and his burns are different. Pock marks from cigarettes. They’re only human, after all. Sleep comes easily, dragging them under.

Morning comes too soon, too.

“We’ll be there soon, alright Lise? Tonight. Yeah, I promise.”

Mick wakes to the sound of Len on the phone. Lisa, no doubt. He can’t hear her, but he can hear Len. He sounds… upset. Mick just listens to Len reassure her that they’d be there tonight. It’s only another nine hours, they can do it in one shot if they push, but the tone makes something coil in Mick’s gut.

He peeks out from the covers when Len hangs up. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he heaves a sigh, tossing his phone onto his duffel bag before he starts to pace. Once he realizes Mick is watching him, he stops. He stares for a long moment before easing in to sink down at the side of the bed.

“She’s having second thoughts.”   
  
Groaning a little, Mick sits up, stretching himself out as he rubs sleep out of his eyes. His voice is still like gravel when he speaks up, “Why’s she doubtin’ it? They’re thick as thieves.”

Len gives him a weak little smirk at the pun, shaking his head as he rubs over his buzzed hair. “They are. But Lisa’s always been… flighty. She gets cold feet with commitment. It took her forever to say yes. Rosa had to have asked her four different times.”

“Snarts getting cold feet,” Mick scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes even as Len reaches to push his shoulder.

“It wasn’t cold feet, it was strategic.”   
  
“It was stalling,” Mick deadpans.   
  
“Exactly.” Len says as-a-matter-of-factly.

Mick pulls Len a little to steal a kiss, hand pushing up his jaw and along the back of his head before Len hums, muttering against his lips, “We _do_ need to get there today, Mick.”   
  
“Breakfast first. Then we’ll floor it.”   
  
Relaxing his shoulders at his partner’s way of things, familiar and warm, Len’s soft laugh is cut short by a pounding on the door.

“ _Police, open up!_ ”   
  
The two of them stare at the door for a heartbeat- two- and then they’re up and moving quick and organized. They’re always prepared for the out, and their bags already packed. Laces tucked into boots, jackets tugged on even as they throw open the window and hop over the short wall to the grass behind the motel. Shockingly, there’s no one covering that exit. Mick carrying their bags, bare chested under his jacket, and Len with the case kept close, they bolt into the trees.

By the time they resort to busting the door in, all that’s left is the breeze through the curtains.

They don’t stop though, there’s no way they’d stop now that they know there’s someone in pursuit.

“What the hell happened?! They couldn’t have caught up that fast-”   
  
“We left a calling card, Mick. And then we posted up in some slummy motel with that creep with his eyes all over our score,” Len snaps back.   
  
“It was _your_ idea to leave a calling card!”   
  
“We’ve been leaving a calling card for a year and a half, Mick!”   
  
All Mick answers with is a growl.

They’re not upset with each other, and they both know it, but when it gets down to the plan having to be thrown out the window, things get tense, and neither of them is the type to just take things quietly, which, more often than not, results in bickering. A hell of a lot of bickering.

Hopping a small fence into a school parking lot, they skid to a stop against a car, backs pressed to it as they catch their breath. Len grabs the little array of tools on a ring in the pocket of his jacket and stands back up, taking one of the tools to set it against the car window. Applying pressure, leaning into it a little, the window gives, a little hole, but he pulls his sleeve down and pulls the window out so the glass falls away towards the pavement rather than in onto the seat. Unlocking the door, he climbs in, immediately starting to rummage around underneath to hotwire the car. It’s something they’ll have to ditch later, and find something without a broken window and glass on the damn seat, but in a pinch to get away, it’ll work.   
  
Mick keeps watch, listening intently for the sirens. They’re far off, but they don’t seem to be coming closer. They can’t honestly be stupid enough to keep looking in the motel they abandoned, right?

If they can get to the state line, they’re good for a while. With the amount the departments want to talk to each other, let along across state lines, and the warrants and paperwork and simply admitting they _didn’t_ get their guy, neither Mick or Len is worried about this following them too far. Len doubts they even rushed them knowing they had the stolen diamonds, and it wasn’t just the motel owner thinking them suspicious. The heist hadn’t been _that_ big.

When the car rattles to life, Len climbs back out, boots crunching over the glass scattered across the asphalt and rounds around the other side to climb into the passenger seat. Mick sweeps the rest of the glass they missed off the seat with a gloved hand and climbs into the car. 

Throwing it into reverse, even without a window, they screech out of the school parking lot, a Sunday anyway, and through the town. It’s too quick with what seems like the entire three cars the town has mustered for the motel bust to react, and when they tear out onto the freeway, punching it back towards Central, they bust with laughter, giddy and excited, fueled with the adrenaline of getting away.

When they get to a gas station in the middle of nowhere, they steal a car unattended with all it’s windows and keep the show rolling. They’ve got another eight hours until they get to Central and the potential for this to follow them back like some wild procession.

Somehow Len ends up either comfortable enough or tired enough to fall asleep again, and he’s only jarred awake when Mick pulls into a Starbucks and stops behind the car ahead of them.

Peering and peeking around, his mouth is screwed up and grumpy, but his eyes are curious.

“Need coffee,” Mick explains.   
  
“Mm,” Len groans, sitting up and stretching himself out, “Get me somethin’?”   
  
Mick glances sideways at him before quirking a little smile, “Whaddya want?”

Len hadn’t cleared enough of the brain fog to get that far, clearly, and leans against Mick to look out at the menu. He doesn’t seem to be reading it so much as it’s just there and he’s looking in the general direction. Eventually he pats Mick’s shoulder once, “Something sugary. You know how I like my coffee.”   
  
“So no coffee,” Mick pulls up to the speaker even as Len chuckles a laugh.   
  
He orders an Americano and a Caramel Brulée Crème Frappuccino, because it sounds like the sweetest, grossest thing on the menu.   
  
The steam that rolls off his cup and the warmth it blossoms in his chest gets Mick a good hell of a way towards where they’re going on what would otherwise be an empty stomach. Len stays awake after his drink, tapping out the beat to every song that comes on the radio, even the ones he doesn’t know.

With coffees come pit stops though, especially without breakfast as a buffer. Fuckin’ pigs.

They end up posting up in a diner, a little mom and pop diner, not like iHop, using the bathroom first and foremost, but tucking into the corner to relax without the rattle of the road underneath them.

They play footsie under the table like high school kids until the waitress sees they’re ready to order. They get the fun option and order two of the burgers of the week the little restaurant does. This week happens to be a brisket burger with gouda and baby arugula and all that jazz on a pretzel bun. One regular fry and one sweet potato fry.

They keep an eye on the car from where they sit, but nobody suspects a thing. The food’s good, the diner’s quiet, and they enjoy time out of the car to just relax. They’re making good time, even if there’s a tightness in Len’s shoulders Mick knows by now means he’s worried. Len doesn’t worry about much, and even when he knows it’s about Lisa, to think this is getting to him makes Mick think.   
  
Wiping his mouth, he sets his napkin aside, sniffling once, “Really think she’s gonna back out?”

Len looks up from where he’s still picking at the last of his fries, holding one while he thinks. He might just be stalling. Even after all these years, that one’s hard to tell.

“I don’t think so. She loves Roscoe. The two have been inseparable since day one, even if Lisa likes to play coy.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mick rumbles.

Len kicks his shin under the table and Mick laughs, shaking his head a little.

“Lisa’s a Snart. It’ll be some dancing around it for a while, which she’s been doing, and then it’s ride or die. It’s just how we are.”   
  
Mick softens a little, nodding just the same, “I know.”

They fill the tank and get back on the road without incident, leaving a nice tip for the nice waitress, and it’s uneventful for the next few hours. Around sunset Len points out a hillside with a bunch of cows and Mick can’t help staring as they drive by. The road is mostly empty, and they’re really cute. The babies are still little.

The roads start to become familiar then, the places they pass, the hills they wind through, and as the sky grows dark, they take the freeway past Wichita. Only a few more hours, and Mick gives it a little more gas.

It’s almost 8 in the evening when they take the off ramp into Central, and it hits them both in the chest hard enough to take their breath away. This is their city. Their turf. Their _home_. And it’s just as beautiful as they left it.   
  
Len is sitting up and fiddling as they make their way through the city, a tremor of excitement running through him at being back, at being able to see Lisa again after a long time apart. It’s different than the feeling of getting out of prison after a stint. That’s just overwhelming relief, the feeling that for the first time in however long, you can breathe again. This is different. This is the warmth that blossoms through the chest, the anticipation that makes your chest tight- Being apart from the only blood you have left, even for the Snarts, is tough. So coming back is coming home in so many ways.

Digging out his phone, Len texts Lisa. Mick can see the screen out of the corner of his eye but not see what’s on it with the glare. He focuses on the road instead.   
  
When Len speaks up, it’s with a croak to his voice from disuse, “She’s at the house.”   
  
Mick makes a left to put them on a better street towards the house, the first place that was the base for the Rogues.

When they pull in, Len doesn’t even wait until the car is off before he’s out of the car and taking the path up to the stone stairs in long strides. Mick parks and locks the car and follows, coming into the house after.   
  
“Where’s Ros?”   
  
“I told ‘em to get lost,” Lisa huffs, arms crossed over her chest. She glances at Mick but doesn’t give him much mind. She can be so single minded when she’s pissed, and right now it’s clear she’s angry, but there’s also a set to her shoulders that says she’s upset. Scared, hurt, sad.

Len pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “Lisa…”  
  
“I panicked, alright?”  
  
“Over what?” Len squints, shaking his head, “What’s got your so worked up about this, Lise?”  
  
“It’s-” Lisa draws a breath, huffing it out, “I don’t know if I’m ready.”  
  
“Lisa…” Len starts, then trails off, scrubbing his hand down his cheek.  
  
“You don’t have to be ready,” Mick tries. They both look at him because sure that might have been a weird way to start, but that’s just how Mick is sometimes, and they hear him out anyway, “Bein’ married ain’t anything more than what you do every day. Wake up, have breakfast, kiss, be badasses, sleep together. Fuck, if that’s what you’re into. You don’t even have to wear rings if you don’t want to.”  
  
He shrugs a shoulder and Lisa stares for a few long moments before she asks, brows knit, “Then why is it so important?”  
  
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Lisa. You never have to do _anything_ you don’t want to. Marriage can offer a lot of perks when it comes to legal shit. They’re less likely to try to turn you on each other in court if you get caught, which is fun as hell when they don’t have anyone else but Mick and I- you can easier set things up for if one of you dies.”

Len eases a little, looking at his sister with a softer expression.   
  
“It’s like a tattoo,” Mick offers, “Get it, it’ll be there a while, or forever. If you don’t like it, get rid of it.”   
  
Len gestures a little, nodding, though he doesn’t add anything.   
  
Lisa rubs her own arms with her hands in a gesture to comfort herself and Len steps up in front of her to reach to hold her hands on her arms, brushing them too before carefully wrapping his arms around her. Lisa has and always will be Len’s one weakness. Sometimes even before Mick. She eases in and presses her face into the crook of his shoulder and neck, arms still around herself.   
  
“You don’t have to do this sis. Not if you don’t want to.”   
  
“I don’t… want to end up like-”   
  
“You won’t,” Len interjects, shaking his head as he rubs a hand down her back.   
  
“How do you know though?” She asks, voice soft but desperate.   
  
“Because. You already worry about it, so you’ll be conscious of the shit you do. And you already don’t get in that many fights. Even Mick and I get in fights. But you don’t hurt each other. Not physically, and if you do emotionally… you guys talk. Dad never talked. He ordered. It was his rules and his house. You won’t be like that because you’re already aware. Dad didn’t have the two brain cells to rub together to even see how awful he was.”   
  
It’s soft and almost private, but Mick stands by. It’s not his place to interject. His own family and ideas on all of this are different, and in some ways, skewed in different ways. His father was different. His thoughts on marriage are different. Not bad, and nothing that puts them at odds ever, but not what Lisa needs right now.   
  
Len eases her out of hiding in his shoulder, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.   
  
“You’re gonna be just fine, Lise. I promise. If me and Mick can make it work, you and Ros are gold.”   
  
He taps her chin gently when he says gold, and she smiles with a little huff, a little redness coming to her cheeks.   
  
“That was lame.” Lisa reaches to punch his shoulder gently, “ _You’re_ lame.”   
  
Len only shrugs a shoulder, not even denying her words. She’s right. He _is_ lame. But he’s right. She and her partner are so good to each other. They think the world of each other, even when times are hard. And no matter what happens, he knows they couldn’t ever end up like their father. Not Lisa, and not Len either. Not to their partners, and if ever they had families of their owns, not to their children either. Lisa is too good to be a monster like that and Len’s heart aches that she even thinks she has the capacity. Another thing to spit on his grave for. And to live on in spite of him for.   
  
Rosa comes home to a home cooked meal- albeit a little late- from Mick, a treat she hasn’t had in years, and she and Lisa talk.

Three days later Len is adjusting Mick’s tie for the third time, “Loosen it again and I’m gonna strangle you with it, _motek_.”  
  
Mick’s hands wrap around Len’s wrists and he growls out, “You promise?”  
  
Len smirks up at him, adjusting the lapels of his suit and smoothing them out so they lay flat. He doesn’t deem the smooth words with an answer, but he appreciates it nonetheless. Mick’s humor always help when Len’s on pins and needles. And Len isn’t really sure he can think of a situation he’d be on more pins and needles in an excited way than his sister’s wedding. Mick’s big hands settle on his shoulders instead.  
  
“Len.”  
  
His heart leaps to his throat. It’s not the tone, but it’s the knowledge that Mick’s going to reassure him in things he hasn’t really made move to acknowledge yet. That he isn’t sure he wants to acknowledge.  
  
“It’s going to be fine,” Mick assures, just like Len knew he would.  
  
“I know, I know-”  
  
“We’re already here. Already dressed. Just take ‘em the score and let ‘em do their thing.”  
  
Len stares up at Mick and heaves a sigh. Mick’s hands smooth up the sides of Len’s neck til they’re cupping his jaw and he tilts his husband’s face up so he can kiss him. It’s tender as hell, but it makes Len melt a little, some of the anxieties melting off. He’s cool. He’s ice cold. He’s got this handled, and even if Mick is one of the only people who ever see him this worked up, he’s also one of the only ones who know how to calm him down.  
  
He nods and a smirk tugs at his lips before Mick reaches up and loosens his own tie.  
  
Len pushes him away with a snarl of disgust. The grin on his face is ear to ear. He picks up the briefcase and takes a few steps back, pointing at him, “Pants.”  
  
Mick glances down at the shiny shoes and socks and even the stupid sock garters- Len insisted- and no pants. He shrugs and Len rolls his eyes and ducks out of the room.  
  
Down the hall and on the right, he knocks on the door and when Rosa opens it, he smiles for her. He steps into the room when she allows and when he sees Lisa in her wedding dress, he can’t help but stare.  
  
Form fitting and floor length with a subtle gold sheer overlay, the lace is the same soft gold from the heart cut up the shoulders and neck in queen anne style and across the back. It’s a little intricate, but it’s subtle in its intricacies.  
  
She catches his eye and smooths herself down a little, “It’s so fuckin’ frou-frou, Len.”  
  
“Sweet, dear, beautiful, _wonderful_ Lisa… It’s the least frou-frou while still being an actual wedding dress. Only a little lace, no train, and some nice gold accents- you look beautiful.”  
Her face reddens a little and she huffs, going back to trying to fix the gold dust in her makeup, “I’d better. Been at this for like, six hours.”  
  
“It’s been three, dearest,” Roscoe offers, and Len smiles for him. He looks rather dapper in his own outfit too. It’s a short white dress with a lot of movement in the fabric, a pressed tux jacket and bowtie, a thick gold cummerbund with the same accent gold cufflinks, black leggings and little black ankle boots. It suits them.  
  
When it came up in jest that Ros shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding, both Ros and Lisa laughed because that sort of thing was for grooms. Ros wasn’t a groom. But really, Len knew it was just to stamp on some heteronormative expectations and to ease both their anxieties and jitters about this whole thing.  
  
Setting the box on the table, Len unlocks it and unclasps it, flipping the clamshell halves open. He pulls out Rosa’s pieces first, handing over intricate diamond studded gold earrings, a circle of diamonds and four branching gold spirals, not unlike a whirlwind.  
  
Roscoe takes them carefully, looking at them and Lisa peeks over to see. Rosa sounds taken, “They’re beautiful, Snart.” Looking up with a smile, they huff a laugh, “Where did you find something like this?”  
  
Len laughs a little himself, playing innocent as he pulls the necklace from the box as well, gesturing for Lisa to stand in front of the mirror as he looped it around her neck from behind to lay it flat against her breastbone and clasp it in the back. She lets her hair fall in waves and her fingers trace the edge of it. It’s like lace, gold and diamonds settled beautifully in a way that complements the cut of her wedding dress.  
  
She looks over her shoulder at Len with a knowing smirk, “Yes, Len, where _did_ you find something like this?”

“You know exactly what happened, don’t play coy,” Len matches his sister’s look with his own.   
  
“Clever, sly, handsome, _wonderful_ Len, it’s called plausible deniability,” Lisa smiles as she smooths out Len’s lapels just the same as he did for Mick. “Thank you for the gift. We appreciate it.   
  
He nods a little, leaning in to give Lisa a little kiss to the forehead, impossibly soft for the Snart siblings, but now’s as good a time as ever to be that kind of soft. Ros smiles gently to see the like this, but soon sets a hand on Len’s back.   
  
“We need to finish getting ready. You should make sure Mick is ready and get everyone into position. I’ll be out soon.”   
  
Len nods, and does what he’s asked. Roscoe helps Lisa finish up, and he makes sure Mick is ready. They all settle into the semicircle of Rogues and friends to support these two in their union. It’s nontraditional, but it’s more than nice. 

They’ve never been about following the rules.

After Len is sure everyone is ready, he doubles back and Rosa joins the rest. Leaning on the doorway, he watches Lisa jitter a little and smiles gently. When she finally breathes and looks at him, he stands up straight and offers his arm. Looping her arm through his, Len leads his sister down the aisle to get married.   
  
The proud little grin on Mick’s face is undeniable.   
  
He hands her off, and stands next to his own husband. When he gets misty eyed, Mick hands him the hanky from his breast pocket and in line with their inside joke, Len croaks, “Allergies.”   
  
They both smile though, and despite the nervous energy Lisa was giving off in waves, when she stands there facing the person she wants to be with, she relaxes. More so than Len thinks he’s ever seen her before. She looks happy. Happier than he ever thought he could be sure she could be, and for that, he’s glad for Ros. They’ll be a good in-law, and a good partner for Lisa.

There’s shouts of _mazel tov_ and a lot of celebration. They all enjoy drinks and fun and good food.   
  
And when all is said and done, Len leans against Mick with a tired sigh and he wraps an arm around him to let him relax while Lisa and Roscoe sit together and smile.   
  
“You think they’re gonna be alright?” Mick asks gently. He doesn’t doubt it, but hearing the reassurance is nice.   
  
“They’re going to be just fine. They love each other. A lot like we do. They’ll bicker and bite, but they’ll always apologize and work to be better for each other,” Len assures with a nod.   
  
“And the legal benefits aren’t too bad,” Mick chuckles, squeezing his husband a little.   
  
“They really aren’t. Speaking of, I got a text that we might have company when we get back.”   
  
Mick laughs, loud and deep, “Well! I guess we’re gonna be hanging out for a while then, huh? Watch the house while they go on their honeymoon.”   
  
Len matches the laugh with one of his own, lighter, airier. He reaches up to swat at Mick’s loose tie with a smirk playing at his lips, “I’m sure it’ll be quite an eventful vacation.”


End file.
